


Wherever I Lay My Hat

by merlypops



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1920s America AU, Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackmail, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Friendship, Gangs, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Killing, M/M, Minor Character Death, One Night Stands, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Violence, post-WW1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merlypops/pseuds/merlypops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>But I love them and I leave them,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Break their hearts and deceive them everywhere I go.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Don't you know that I'm the type of man who is always on the roam?</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Wherever I lay my hat, that's my home.</i>
</p><p>"Who runs your gang?" Ashton asked. "Who's your boss?"<br/>Niall looked equal parts reverent and fearful.<br/>"Liam Payne," he replied, referring to one of the most infamous felons in all of America. Payne was a notorious gangster who was involved in criminal activity and owned one of the most renowned Speakeasy establishments in Chicago.<br/>Ashton felt cold but he couldn't deny the excitement bubbling inside him as several things fell into place: his late father's mysterious job and the drugs, the unanswered questions and the conscription, and <i>especially</i> Niall's reaction when he had learnt Ashton's surname.<br/>"Would he let <i>me</i> join?" Ashton asked.</p><p>
  <b>Ashton's only home is the hat on his head, but it takes three broken hearts, double-crossing a gang, and losing almost everyone he cares about for him to realise that.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. More Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a oneshot but after the plan alone took over ten pages, I realised that probably wasn't going to be possible so it looks like this fic will be a multi-chapter instead!  
> It's set before and during 1920s America during the Prohibition Era (which happens a tiny bit earlier in this fic) and it's based on the song "Wherever I Lay My Hat (That's My Home)" by Marvin Gaye.  
> I'm incredibly excited to write this because it's like nothing I've done before!  
> Fingers crossed you'll all enjoy it!
> 
> EDIT: I know this has been discontinued for about ten billion years but I stumbled upon it today and it reminded me that I actually did have the whole fic planned out and I'm kind of excited about it again, and I think it would be a shame to leave it discontinued so I'm going to try to update it again one day soon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ' _Fletcher left to fight in the Great War on Ashton’s seventeenth birthday. The sun was shining bright in the sky - hotter than the day of Ashton’s birth all those years ago - and the lines on Fletcher’s weathered face were striking in the sunlight._ '

Ashton had always been a fighter.

He was born in 1900 on a ranch in Northern Texas, the only child of Anne and Fletcher Irwin. Ashton’s mother died just hours after the birth but he was strong where Anne had been weak, and he shone bright beneath the timeless sun as the world around him darkened.

Ashton’s turbulent childhood was a snarl of unanswered questions and what he would one day realise was neglect. His father never told Ashton what his job was but he left everyday at eight o’clock with his polished black leather shoes and his charcoal grey fedora, and he never came home until late, bringing with him treats and toys for Ashton so that the little boy never thought to question why he came second to his father’s job.

Fletcher spent every Sunday on the ranch with Ashton, teaching him to read and write, and the basics of his trade: picking locks and arming a gun and lying through his teeth.

When Ashton got older, his father taught him how to steal without getting caught, gave his son pin money for transporting little sachets of white powder when Fletcher couldn't take the risk of doing it himself when he had already been on the police’s radar as a criminal, not just in Texas but in cities like Chicago and New York too.

When Ashton asked what was in the little bags and learnt that it was cocaine, it barely phased him.

He had been raised in an environment where it was perfectly normal to break the law in order to get what you wanted.

Ashton liked helping out too - it made him feel _important_ in a way that almost nothing else did during those long days when his only company were the birds wheeling in the empty vastness of the sky and the dog-eared novels on the shelf in his father’s bedroom.

Ashton’s favourite part of the day was when Fletcher came home from work late in the evening - sometimes bruised or exhausted but always forcing a smile - and let his son choose a book from the shelf. Ashton always chose Oliver Twist and Fletcher _always_ read the same section aloud:

“ _Such is the influence which the condition of our own thoughts, exercises, even over the appearance of external objects. Men who look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right; but the sombre colours are reflections from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision_.”

He always flashed Ashton a smile afterwards, dimpled at him and ruffled his son’s curls, and said:

“That’s something you must always remember, little man. Don’t you ever forget it.”

Ashton promised he never would.

The threat of the police loomed closer by the time Ashton was nine years old but, despite the fear of persecution hanging over Fletcher like a shroud, they had enough money for books and toys, and there was always meat to eat with the corn and potatoes they grew in the yard outside - not like the impoverished families Ashton saw on his rare trips into town when his pockets were stuffed full of drugs.

Ashton was so grateful for Fletcher, prayed thanking God every night that he was lucky enough to have a father like him before Fletcher caught him one night and made him stop, crunching his son’s faith beneath the heel of his polished shoe like a bug.

Ashton stood behind Fletcher - dressed in his fedora and shining shoes with his pockets lined with money - and he idolised his father, wanted to be just like him when he was grown-up even though it looked hard sometimes. Ashton never had time to miss his mother when his head was so full of Fletcher.

Ashton took in his father’s gleaming smiles and the way he could charm anybody he spoke to, and he loved him. Ashton worried when Fletcher was away working his mysterious jobs and he did everything he could to make his father’s life easier when he was back at the ranch.

Ashton cared for his father more than he cared for anyone else in the world and he knew his father could do anything he set his mind to.

That was why Ashton felt no panic when the Great War began. The fourteen year old felt no concern at all because, as far as the government were concerned, Ashton and his father didn't exist. The police knew Fletcher's name but had no further information to go on, let alone an address or the knowledge of Ashton’s existence.

That all changed in 1917 when the men in the USA were called to become soldiers and fight in the Great War. Ashton’s father left because he had received a warning from the police - accept conscription or be sent to prison - after his luck finally ran out in a casino in town.

The owner’s son hadn't taken kindly to being hustled and the police - who had gradually become aware of Fletcher’s presence over the years - had given him the no-win options and that had been that, and Ashton’s life had changed irrevocably.

It scared the teenager more than he could put into words, the fact that people knew they lived there now because it meant that anonymity was no longer something that protected them.

Fletcher left to fight in the Great War on Ashton’s seventeenth birthday. The sun was shining bright in the sky - hotter than the day of Ashton’s birth all those years ago - and the lines on Fletcher’s weathered face were striking in the sunlight.

He had no parting words for his only son, no comfort or advice. Instead he flashed Ashton his trademark grin and removed his fedora as he passed through the gate, settling the hat on his only son’s curls and whistling a low tune as he followed the other men enlisting into the town.

Ashton stood at the gate and watched his father among the group of men until they dwindled out of sight, too far away to see now, mere specks on the horizon.

The very moment he was gone, Ashton missed his father. He became aware of a terrible aching in his chest that only grew as the days trickled by without news, festering inside him with each restless toss-and-turn at night when his terrors refused to leave his thoughts.

Fletcher Irwin never returned home from the war but the year leading up to his death was long and hard for Ashton. The teenager stayed living in the ranch on his own, running errands in town when money was low and he was unable to successfully grow enough food to eat, and those twelve months alone made Ashton lean and hungry and clever, and he never took the fedora off.

When Ashton received word that his father had been killed, the pain and fear in the eighteen year old’s heart coalesced to form something wilder, more dangerous.

Ashton spent his father’s meagre savings on alcohol and gambling, and that was when Ashton’s luck began to change because, instead of losing the money, Ashton made big bucks and such a huge name for himself in Texas that he had to leave everything behind, had to start over because he craved the security of anonymity, detested having people know who he was because it felt like there were constantly eyes trained on his every movement, scrutinising and criticising and wishing ill.

That didn't mean that Ashton felt entirely comfortable venturing someplace new though.

A piece of Ashton’s heart remained at the ranch when he left it behind.


	2. Changed Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ' _The night when the few meagre dollars Ashton had left were stolen from him was a cold one, a whirl of howling winds that bit at exposed skin as the stars glimmered faintly overhead._ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really did enjoy writing this update although I'm not sure why. I just love this story and I hope you guys will too.

Ashton didn't find running away as difficult as some people might have.

He knew that had to do a little with the money he had won from gambling but a lot more of it was thanks to Ashton's less-than-conventional childhood. He had whiled the days away when he was left alone reading books and dreaming of adventures and, although an air of melancholy clouded him the further from Texas he wandered, the wild restless energy crackling in Ashton's veins kept him walking.

He barely slept, kept awake by plaguing thoughts of his father as it sunk in just how little Ashton really knew about the man who had raised him.

Ashton walked for six long months and, despite how much money he had won, it soon ran out and he was left with nothing but the clothes on his back and Fletcher's hat on his head.

Ashton had to scam, con and steal just to stay alive during the autumn of 1918, even _though_ it was dangerous, and an underlying sense of unease settled over his heart as the skies turned pale and the leaves started to fall from the trees. He didn't relish the thought of fighting for his survival out in the countryside come winter.

That was what led Ashton to New York where, once again, his luck changed forever.

The night when the few meagre dollars Ashton had left were stolen from him was a cold one, a whirl of howling winds that bit at exposed skin as the stars glimmered faintly overhead.

Ashton didn't remember much of the attack; only rough bricks scraping his skin and blood filling his mouth as fists pounded into him while his pockets were rifled through.

He remembered his fingernails clawing at the dirt as boots collided with his ribs, remembered his father's hat tumbling from his head to rest on the ground as his lip burst open.

Most of all, Ashton remembered the shame that burnt through him like acid when he realised that he had no idea how to fight, that he was unable to save even _himself_.

When a well-built man dressed in a suit hurled himself into the alley and knocked the two muggers out with several clean punches and kicks, Ashton felt the same awe bubbling inside him that he had felt so often after looking upon his father as a child.

"You still with us, kid?" the stranger asked, smiling wide in the shadowy recesses of the alley when Ashton raised his bloodied head and accepted the hand that was being offered to him. The stranger helped him to his feet, kneeling fluidly to retrieve Ashton's fedora before he handed it back to him with a wide smile.

"You took quite a beating," the man noted, his accent unlike anything Ashton had heard before. The eighteen year old squinted at his rescuer in the darkness, wincing a little when it made the bruises blooming on his face throb with pain.

"Where're you from?" Ashton asked, struggling to suppress a groan when pain shot through his ribs. The stranger's arm circled Ashton's waist to keep him standing and Ashton's body melted into the contact without his permission.

"I'm from Ireland," the man said, fixing his already-immaculate blond hair and flashing Ashton a warm smile as he looked down at the teenager. "And you're from Texas, am I right?"

When Ashton looked up at him with wide hazel eyes, the Irishman offered a small smile.

"Your accent," he said by way of explanation. "It's easy to recognise."

Ashton relaxed, safe with the knowledge that his name hadn't travelled this far north yet.

He swayed suddenly, like he was _drunk_ almost. Ashton felt terrible but he didn't particularly relish the idea of admitting that to a complete stranger who might have less than honourable intentions.

Ashton tightened his grip on the stranger's arm despite that though, clinging to the man as blood filled his mouth and his head pounded. He felt _small_ and it was a distinctly unpleasant sensation.

"Don't worry, kid," the blond man said softly, tightening his grip around Ashton's waist like he knew how the teenager felt. One of the unconscious men on the floor stirred with a grunt. "Let's get out of here. I'll get you somewhere safe, okay? I promise."

"Thank you," Ashton said softly, twitching a hand up to wipe something away from his mouth. His knuckles came away bloody. "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm Niall Horan," the blond man replied in his strange accent. "Pleased to meet you, kid. I'm here on... business, I guess you could say." And then: "I don't suppose you know your way around this fine city? This place is... relatively new to me."

"I'm new here too," Ashton croaked but his head was pounding worse now and he had to grip Niall's muscled shoulder to stay upright.

"Well then we'll find our way together," the blond man decided as they emerged blinking onto the lamp-lit street. The hour was late enough that there were no people about and the clouds were rolling in as the shadows spread across the ground like ink.

"Why'd you help me?" Ashton whispered and Niall's grip tightened fractionally around him.

"Because I've been where you're standing and someone helped me too," the blond man replied softly as they started to walk down the street together. "The guy's my boss now, actually. Nice guy - strict but fair. I like working for him."

"That's good then," Ashton mumbled, tired and aching. He felt thin in the older man's grip, _brittle_ almost. The last six months had been tough.

Niall was frowning now, clearly trying to figure out his whereabouts as Ashton limped along beside him. After a moment the blond man's face lit up. "Ah, I know where we are! My hotel's this way... I think."

Ashton almost smiled then. Almost.

"What's your name, kid?" Niall asked and, despite the eighteen year old's craving for anonymity, he found himself speaking without really considering why.

"I'm Ashton Irwin," he said quietly and Niall's piercing blue eyes flickered to his face before dancing quickly away again.

" _Irwin_?" the Irishman repeated slowly, glancing at the hat on Ashton's head and his pained hazel eyes. "And you're from Texas? Say, you wouldn't happen to know -"

Niall broke off when Ashton stumbled, clutching his bruised ribs as pain spiked through him.

"Never mind that now," Niall said quietly, looking cross with himself. "Let's just get you safe. How old are you, kid? Sixteen?"

" _Eighteen_ ," Ashton muttered, allowing a little irritation to colour his tone. Niall chuckled.

"You're a man then! Not a kid at all!" His voice became softer. "How long have you been on your own?"

Ashton's eyes _didn't_ burn with tears then.

"Too long," the eighteen year old muttered, adjusting his hat weakly so that his eyes were hidden. "I need to find work. _Any_ work."

His desperation must have been evident in his tone because Niall looked conflicted.

"You don't want people to hear you saying things like that, kid," the Irishman chastised softly, apparently forgetting that the teenager was actually an adult. "It's not safe. You'll end up like I did."

Ashton looked up at Niall, blinking his bleary eyes and shuddering at the blood in his mouth. The blond man looked back at him, took in the gauntness of Ashton's face and the bruises staining his skin.

He seemed to decide that he could trust him.

"I said I'd been where you are and I meant it. My boss found me being beaten to a pulp in an alleyway in Chicago - that's where I'm from nowadays - and he saved me. He taught me to fight, taught me how to get by... He was kind enough to offer me work. Must've seen something in me - _I_ don't know - but I..." Niall looked at Ashton again, took in the hopelessness in his hazel eyes and saw himself in them. "I joined his gang and I never looked back, kid. It's been years - I was the same age as you when he found me and I'm twenty three now. He kept me off the streets, kept me alive, kept food in my stomach and dollars in my pocket, and all I had to do was run errands for him, transport stuff sometimes."

Niall's expression twisted a little and Ashton thought back to his childhood, remembered the little bags of white powder and his father's wary expression as Ashton followed his orders just like he'd always been told.

"I have experience with that," the eighteen year old said quietly and there was something that was _almost_ hope colouring the energy inside him. "I could help." He hesitated, faltering when the cold night air made his head spin. "Who runs your gang?" Ashton asked. "Who's your boss?"

Niall looked equal parts reverent and fearful.

"Liam Payne," he replied, referring to one of the most infamous felons in all of America. Payne was a notorious gangster who was involved in criminal activity and owned one of the most renowned Speakeasy establishments in Chicago.

Ashton felt cold but he couldn't deny the excitement bubbling inside him as several things fell into place: his late father's mysterious job and the drugs, the unanswered questions and the conscription, and _especially_ Niall's reaction when he had learnt Ashton's surname.

"Would... would he let _me_ join? Or... or help out?" the eighteen year old asked softly. Niall's grip around him became _painfully_ tight but his face took on a visage of almost _forced_ detachedness as he looked at the hope colouring Ashton's expression.

"He helped me, kid," Niall said softly but there was a quiet sort of sadness in his tone that he was unable to entirely mask. "There's only one way to find out."

Ashton's split lips twitched weakly but his head was spinning worse than ever and, more than anything, he simply wanted to sleep.

"I hope you don't mind sleeping on my hotel room floor," Niall muttered jokingly when the building loomed into sight and a drop of blood rolled down Ashton's chin when he grinned. Niall rolled his eyes fondly but he still looked melancholy when he helped the eighteen year old settle down onto the thin mattress in the room a few minutes later. "We leave first thing in the morning so get some sleep now if you can. If you feel like you're going to be sick, please tell me because I don't like the look of your head."

"Rude," Ashton muttered but his eyes were threatening to slide shut now and the pounding had dulled to a low throb.

Niall snorted with laughter as he pulled the spare pillow off the bed and settled down on the floor.

"I mean it," he reprimanded but there was amusement in his voice now and it set Ashton's frayed nerves at ease. "Now go to sleep, kid. Tomorrow's going to be a long, _long_ day."

In the end, Niall wasn't wrong.

The journey was torturous for Ashton who was hiding in the cramped luggage compartment of the train after Niall had decided that he would prefer not to pay the fare.

The carriage rocked with every change of direction and the corner of a trunk was digging painfully into Ashton's already-bruised ribs. He couldn't quite stifle his excitement though and the childlike joy inside him multiplied tenfold when Niall appeared to help him hurry away before the porters appeared to unload the luggage.

Downtown Chicago was cold and misty, and everything seemed to be made of either grey stone or steel. Ashton was glad for his fedora when the rain began to fall because the drops were the size of bullets as they collided with the cobbles beneath their feet.

"This way, kid," Niall said softly, guiding Ashton by the elbow as they passed several boarded-up shops. Apparently the Great Depression had hit Chicago _hard_.

The pair turned a corner and Ashton's eyebrows rose when he saw the words: ' **WE WANT BEER** ' scrawled across a brick wall in red paint.

"Speakeasy's just up this way," Niall told him, keeping his voice low so that no one passing by would accidentally overhear him. "Keep quiet when we get there, okay? Speak only if you're spoken to... and just stick with me. I'll look after you."

Ashton bristled a little at the insinuation that he couldn't properly take care of himself but, after he considered the state Niall had found him in the night before, he supposed the older man's worries weren't unfounded.

"It'll be okay, kid," Niall promised, mistaking the expression on Ashton's face for fear. "Just... last chance to back out now, okay? Because, to be honest, you already know too much but I'd be willing to turn a blind eye if you wanted to -"

" _No_!" Ashton said sharply, in the sort of tone that would have got him hit at home. "No," he said more softly, flinching a little when Niall raised his hand to adjust Ashton's hat for him. "It's okay. I'd die on the streets anyway, probably. This can't be worse. _Nothing_ can."

Niall nodded grimly but the old warehouse that housed the Speakeasy came into sight as they rounded a corner and it spared him the trouble of answering. "It's just back here," the Irishman said softly instead, leading Ashton deeper into the labyrinth of streets that all looked the same.

The eighteen year old would have been hopelessly lost if it wasn't for his new acquaintance.

The Speakeasy was tucked behind a car manufacturer that had been used for building weaponry during the war and an old public library that had seen better days.

The warehouse was a mess when the pair reached it and Niall let out a low whistle.

"What happened here?" Ashton asked quietly, his clever hazel eyes darting around as he took in every detail he could.

"My guess is another raid," the Irishman said quietly but there was concern poorly-hidden on his face now. "Although an unsuccessful one, I should imagine. The guys must have had enough warning that they were able to hide everything."

When he saw Ashton's concern, Niall elaborated carefully: "It'll have been the police or agents from the Bureau again."

When Ashton _still_ looked confused, the Irishman's brows rose.

"Have you been living under a rock?" he joked but his eyes were serious. "I'm talking about the Bureau of Prohibition - those villains who are confiscating anything worth having in this godforsaken world. That's why Speakeasies sprung up, see?" Niall looked a little lost as he took in the way Ashton was processing those facts. "You really hadn't heard about any of this?"

"Not really," Ashton said with a slight shrug that set his bruised shoulder aching again. "I've kind of been off the grid, you know? Keeping up with the news hasn't really been that important for me. Not when I was trying to find drinking water and food..."

Niall had that look on his face again, like he was feeling sad but was doing his best to hide it.

"Well, let's hope you won't have to worry about things like that anymore," he said softly and Ashton's lips tugged up into a crooked little smile that made Niall relax.

"Door's this way," he said in a gentle voice, giving Ashton's elbow a comforting squeeze after the teenager winced in pain when he jarred his ribs again.

"Will they be okay with me being here?" Ashton asked cautiously, taking in a smashed window that had been hastily boarded-up as Niall rapped on the metal door in a curious sequence of knocks.

"I'll look after you," the Irishman repeated and Ashton couldn't help but notice that that wasn't _quite_ the same thing as a yes.

Ashton flinched when a panel in the door slid aside to reveal a man standing behind it.

"Horan," the stranger said in a rough voice, smiling unpleasantly when his watery eyes found Ashton and revealing several missing teeth. "Who's your little _friend_?"

"That's none of your business, Frank," Niall said sharply, gripping Ashton's shoulder through the ripped cotton shirt he was dressed in. "Now get this damn door open, for the love of God. Mr Payne isn't paying us to stand out here chatting idly and I'm freezing my fucking balls off out here."

The man - Frank - sneered a little at that and hissed something that was probably offensive as the metal door creaked open to grant them passage.

He could still be heard muttering darkly behind them as Niall led Ashton into a long shadowy passageway that seemed to stretch a long way back.

"He seems nice," Ashton mumbled and the Irishman snorted with surprised laughter, giving the eighteen year old's shoulder another squeeze.

"Frank's not so bad really," Niall said after a long moment. They passed a closed door but Ashton could see a tired-looking man in a suit working over a stack of papers by the dull light of a lamp. "He's just like the rest of us... Well, he's a bit _smellier_ perhaps but you know what I mean."

Ashton's sore lips twitched weakly but he found himself pressing closer to Niall's side when raised voices sounded from another room.

"Is it... Is it _safe_ here?" Ashton asked cautiously, fighting to keep the unease he was feeling off his tanned face because he was starting to feel trapped and frightened now, but he hoped he was masking it well enough that his words sounded casual instead.

Niall clapped Ashton lightly on the shoulder anyway, like he knew how the teenager felt.

"It's safer than living out there on the streets," the Irishman replied after a moment. The ' _just_ ' went unsaid.

With a shudder, Ashton found himself remembering the night before and the injuries on his body gave a phantom ache.

"Well," Ashton said quietly. "I can't disagree with that."

Niall's blue eyes were sad again as he took in the bruises littering Ashton's exhausted face.

"No," the blond man said at last, his expression downcast now as they neared a door at the end of the passageway. "No, I don't suppose you can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought :)  
> I'm very excited to hear what you think! <3


	3. A Force To Be Reckoned With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘ _Ashton felt like a _kid_ again, back when he'd still been small enough to ride on his father's shoulders with the fedora balanced precariously on his head._  
>  _The hat was Ashton's now though and Fletcher's path was leading his son deeper into exciting new territory._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I missed writing this story a ridiculous amount.  
> I hope you guys will enjoy this!  
> I've been reading the other chapters back a couple of times this morning and making a few tiny tweaks so fingers crossed it should all flow properly!  
> Enjoy!

Ashton grew restless during those first few weeks.

He stayed with Niall in the Irishman's apartment – he never asked to leave the building and the Irishman never offered it – and Ashton tried to keep his head down and lose himself in the few books Niall had scattered around his messy abode but it was no good. The rain pounded on the glass like bullets and Ashton often had to keep out of sight when men in neatly-tailored suits and polished shoes came round with grave voices and briefcases with secret documents in that Ashton wasn't allowed to look at.

Ashton didn't like the apartment much. There was a lingering smell of damp and he didn't much appreciate hearing the sex either but, deep down, he knew Niall meant well and accepted him, and that was the only thing that allowed Ashton to overlook all of the girls the Irishman brought home with him on an almost daily basis.

Niall saw the distaste on Ashton's face one morning when he wandered out of his room and found the eighteen year old sitting at the kitchen table, carefully averting his gaze from the various items of clothing strewn across the wooden panels covering the floor as he gnawed on a chunk of stale bread.

“Who do _those_ belong to?” Ashton asked quietly, his Texan accent rougher with weariness and worry. Niall's blue eyes softened minutely.

“Those are _Maya's_ ,” the older man grinned but he looked almost _childlike_ when he dropped down onto the chair across from Ashton's, taking in the teenager's sleepy eyes and messy curls. “She's still sleeping.” Niall hesitated at the discomfort clear on Ashton's face. "You don't like sex?”

Niall asked it so bluntly that it took Ashton a moment to process the words before he choked on his mouthful of dry bread. Niall's eyes glittered with mirth as Ashton spluttered indignantly at him, staggering away from the table to hide in the tiny cupboard room Niall had given him that he had to share with a number of Niall’s old suits.

“I'm not answering that!” Ashton said breathlessly as his eyes watered. He knew eating that bread had been a bad idea. So had moving in with Niall. Maybe.

“You're so funny, kid,” Niall said and it sounded like he meant it. Ashton rolled his eyes at the older man through the doorway but he knew it made him look fond and, briefly, Ashton worried about it. He didn't want to grow attached to someone else, only to lose them too. It hurt too much.

“Go and get some clothes on,” Niall said after a moment’s pause and his voice was a little tighter now; more _business-like_ almost. “You're coming to work with me today.”

Ashton's heart seemed to falter in his chest before it restarted at such a fast pace that it stole his breath away. " _Really_?" the teenager breathed and his eyes were shining, and the slight hint of pain on Niall's face was forgotten as Ashton hurtled into his room with renewed vigour to struggle into his clothes.

“I'm going to wake Maya now so you just stay in there, kid. I'll let you know when we're leaving, okay?”

“Okay,” Ashton agreed, his voice coming out muffled as he struggled into a shirt Niall had given him. Ashton couldn't do much about his trousers though. Those were still ripped from the mugging in the alleyway back in New York.

Ashton didn't feel like the gambler who had had to flee Texas anymore. He didn't even feel like the orphan who had left the only place he ever belonged behind to gather dust in his absence.

Ashton felt like a _kid_ again, back when he'd still been small enough to ride on his father's shoulders with the fedora balanced precariously on his head.

The hat was Ashton's now though and Fletcher's path was leading his son deeper into exciting new territory.

The rain had almost stopped when Ashton finally followed Niall outside into Chicago. The air was fresh and cold, and the scent of petrichor was heavy in the air. Ashton felt his chest loosening as the pair of them walked through the quiet morning but, in comparison to Ashton’s gradual relaxation, Niall grew tenser and more strained.

“You don’t want me to come with you?” Ashton guessed and Niall went pale beside him. There were dark circles under the older man’s eyes and, somehow, the teenager had a feeling that it had nothing to do with Maya.

“It’s not that,” Niall said quietly but, even when Ashton prompted him further, the Irishman refused to say. He didn’t even _speak_ again until they reached the Speakeasy that was run by the notorious mobster Liam Payne.

“Niall,” Ashton said softly and he resisted the urge to tug on the older man’s jacket sleeve like a child. “Are we going to see Mr Payne?”

Niall looked down at Ashton in silence for a moment, his blue eyes serious and grave. He brushed his knuckles lightly against the teenager’s shoulder and Ashton didn’t even remember to flinch.

“Wouldn’t be able to hide from him, kid.” Niall laughed weakly. “And I don’t think he’d take kindly to finding you lurking in a hallway somewhere trying to keep out of trouble. You’ll have to work if you want to stay here.” Niall sounded guilty, despite Ashton literally asking him if working would be possible on the night they’d met.

“Are you _really_ sure about this?” the Irishman murmured but they were approaching the door now and Frank was lurking there again, watching Ashton hungrily with his horrible watery eyes. Niall wrapped his arm around Ashton’s shoulders, standing between the pair of them as Frank grudgingly opened the door for them.

“I am,” Ashton said softly and then they were enveloped in darkness again, making their way down the long corridor towards the door at the end that had remained shut last time after the pair of them had overhead raised voices coming from inside. (Niall had simply gripped Ashton’s elbow and led him hurriedly back the way they came, and the teenager hadn’t argued.)

It was still early enough in the day that all of the side rooms were empty and Ashton’s skin prickled as he followed Niall down the passage. Ashton wasn’t _afraid_ exactly but the significance of the situation was slowly beginning to sink in now and it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Niall looked at Ashton again, watching him carefully as he scrutinised the uncertainty on the teenager’s face.

“You’re gonna be just fine, kid,” Niall murmured before raising his hand to knock on the wooden door. His fist didn’t tremble and Ashton took comfort from that.

“Come in,” a voice called gruffly from inside and, suddenly, Ashton’s throat was narrowing and his heart was racing and his pulse was pounding in his veins and -

Niall’s fingertips were cool as they brushed comfortingly across the back of the teenager’s hand in the moments before the door was opened. Ashton calmed.

“Mr Payne,” Niall said and his voice had taken on a more confident quality now that only thickened his accent. “Good morning to you.”

“Morning, Horan.” Ashton hesitated behind Niall, still nervous enough that his face was pale and, because of where he was standing, the owner of the Speakeasy was still hidden from sight. There was an awkward pause and then: “Where’d the kid come from?”

Ashton managed not to bristle but, for some reason, it annoyed him a _lot_ less when Niall called him that.

“Found him when I was in New York, sir,” the Irishman explained, still standing mostly in front of Ashton so that the eighteen year old couldn’t see Niall’s boss. He _could_ see his office though; it was all dark panelled wood and amber whiskey glinting in crystal bottles on the shelves. He could see tanned fingers drumming on the desktop when Niall lifted his arm, the nails neat and clipped short. Liam’s hands looked soft, like he’d never done any heavy lifting in his life.

“And you just decided to bring him along with you?” The older man didn’t sound amused and Niall was tense now.

“Not at all, sir. I found him being mugged and I helped him out, offered to take him someplace safe but it turns out he didn’t have anywhere to go. He walked all the way from Texas. Took him six months, sir.”

“A _runaway_ , huh? All the way from Texas, you say?” There was something in Liam’s voice that Ashton didn’t like and he reached up to adjust his fedora nervously as nervous energy bubbled inside him. He felt dirty and ragged in his torn trousers, and the bright lamplight in the large office was hurting his eyes after the darkness of the passage outside. Ashton half wished he hadn’t come. “And you said he was being mugged?”

“Yessir,” Niall said and, for some reason Ashton didn’t understand, he heard Liam let out a low bark of laughter.

“History repeating itself, huh, Horan?” Liam’s palm settled flat on the desktop and Ashton flinched. “Funny how that happens.”

“Funny,” Niall echoed weakly but Liam’s hand had curled into a fist now and Ashton forced himself to straighten up, trying to be brave like his father had always taught him… trying to be brave like Oliver was at the end of the book… at the end when Fletcher had already lost interest and Ashton had to read it himself.

“Step aside for me, Horan. I want to see our damsel in distress for myself.”

Ashton was thinking quite a few insulting but imaginative swear words as Niall moved over but they died in Ashton’s throat when Liam’s dark cold eyes settled on Ashton’s face, taking in his hazel eyes and the fedora on his head as his honey-coloured curls fell around his ears.

“Well I never,” Liam breathed and his dark eyes were _gleaming_ now. “Ashton Irwin. What a pleasure to meet you.”

The atmosphere in the room was taut as a bowstring now and Ashton glanced over at Niall whose expression was a curious mixture of anticipation and _betrayal_.

“How… how do you know my name?” Ashton croaked which admittedly wasn’t the first impression he’d been going for.

“You’re the spit of your father, kid,” Liam said and that didn’t make any sense at _all_ because how would Liam Payne know _Fletcher_? Abruptly, Ashton remembered Niall’s reaction when he heard Ashton’s surname and the way Fletcher had been hiding from the police in his last few years of life, and suddenly things began to make more sense.

Liam watched the realisation dawning on Ashton’s face and tilted his head to the side curiously, watching the eighteen year old with something that looked a lot like greed.

“My father worked for you?” Ashton guessed and Liam smiled a smug smile at that, settling back in his leather seat as he tapped the side of his nose with his fingertip.

“All in good time, kid.” Liam straightened up and Ashton swallowed thickly. The older man was tall and well-muscled, dressed in a dark grey suit that hinted at money with his dark brown hair combed neatly into submission. His teeth flashed white when he smiled. Ashton didn’t trust him.

“You’re younger than I thought you’d be,” Liam noted suddenly. “Smaller too. Look all innocent.”

Ashton pressed his lips together into a thin approximation of a smile and wondered where this new attitude had come from; definitely not home because he would’ve been beaten for it but maybe during the year when his father was gone… maybe when Ashton had made a name for himself and more money than he knew what to do with… maybe when Ashton had left anonymity behind for twelve months and his life had changed forever.

“You know, you’re lucky Horan here found you,” Liam said and there was something wicked twisting his lips now. “Not everyone’s as honourable as old Nialler here,” the older man said and Ashton shuddered as he remembered Frank’s watery eyes locked on him as he opened the door.

“I know,” Ashton said, his hazel eyes flickering towards Niall and softening infinitesimally. He could see by the little crease between Liam’s brows when he looked back that the older man hadn’t missed the exchange. “I’m very grateful to him.”

“And to me?” Liam pressed, slick hair gelled and shining under the lights. He took in Ashton’s torn trousers and the too-big shirt he’d borrowed from Niall. “Would you be grateful to me too if I give you what you want?”

“What I _want_?” Ashton repeated curiously. Niall’s fingers were biting into the thick muscle of his thighs now but he was still staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. Ashton wondered why Liam kept him here for a moment before he realised that the older man must just be trying to make a point… although what that point _was_ Ashton didn’t know yet.

“Work,” Liam said with a careless shrug, his dark eyes betraying the casualness he was attempting to exude. “You want to join the gang, don’t you?”

And there it was. The crux of the matter. The reason Ashton was even standing here in the presence of such a dangerous man.

“If you’ll have me,” Ashton said but his mind was still racing with what Liam had hinted about Fletcher.

The dark-haired man looked appeased now, leaning back in his chair as he fought down on a smirk that was still visible in his eyes.

“Let’s start this conversation again,” Liam said softly. “Now that you’re not hiding behind your minder.”

A muscle in Niall’s jaw twitched but Ashton was fighting hard to exude the same lazy calmness that was rolling off of Liam in waves.

For a split-second, Ashton had no idea what the older man wanted of him but… Liam seemed to be a traditionalist. Maybe he just wanted to do this properly and, if he was offering work, Ashton wasn’t going to turn it up.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Payne.” The eighteen year old spoke through gritted teeth as a smile spread slowly over Liam’s face. “And it would be an honour to work for you.”

The older man smiled like a shark.

“Mr Irwin, it would be an honour to _have_ you,” Liam said. Ashton didn’t like the sound of that at all but Liam was still smiling now and Niall had relaxed fractionally, and Ashton forced a smile back as the curiosity burnt through his veins like wildfire.

He adjusted his hat on his head as he thanked Liam for the opportunity.

Nobody saw that Ashton’s fingers were crossed behind his back.

“Fantastic,” Liam said in a firm voice that brooked no room for argument. “Now let’s get some things straight, okay? Horan is my right-hand man, kid. I’m not wasting my resources by having him babysit you while you find your feet; is that clear? If you want to work for me, you have to stop hiding behind Horan.”

Ashton nodded silently, trying to keep the irritation off his face because… damnit, this was his _chance_. He could find out more about Fletcher and… god, maybe he’d _finally_ found his place in the world. He couldn’t afford to screw this up now.

“You’ll start with small tasks first of course, get everyone used to seeing a new face.” Liam’s eyes crinkled suddenly but the smile didn’t look soft at all. “Sometimes they get a bit _twitchy_ around strangers,” he said and Ashton’s pulse quickened when he saw Liam’s hand twitch towards where he must have had a revolver holstered out of sight below the desk. “So you’ll be on your best behaviour, obviously."

“Obviously,” Ashton echoed and Liam’s lips twitched like he was fighting another smile at the surprising lack of respect or politeness he had grown to expect.

“You’ll need new clothes too,” Liam said firmly. “You look like a beggar at the moment with those torn ones.” The older man’s eyes finally flickered to Niall and the blond man squared his shoulders, watching his boss attentively. “I’ll cover the cost if you arrange for Malik to take him out to get measured. I don’t want any man in this gang to walk around looking like anything less than a first-class businessman; is that clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” Niall said. “But –” Liam’s eyes flashed angrily but he didn’t speak so Niall took that as an opportunity to speak. “Could Harry take him instead? You know Zayn can get a bit…”

Liam’s lips twitched again and Niall relaxed.

“True,” Liam said, watching Ashton calmly again. “Mr Styles will take you out instead. He’ll be able to answer any questions you may have but I trust you’ll be discrete.”

“Of course,” Ashton said. “Thank you.”

Liam nodded once, his fiery eyes still fixed on the teenager as Niall stepped back beside Ashton. All at once, the curiosity on Liam’s face shut off like a hot air balloon and his expression became uninterested.

“That’ll be all,” Liam said. “Good luck, kid – or should that be Mr Irwin now that you’ve turned into your father?” Ashton’s eyes were wide at the implications of that but Liam was looking at Niall again, his brown eyes burning into Niall’s own. “Stop by later with those documents I requested, alright, Horan?”

“Of course, sir,” Niall said, swallowing audibly. “Thank you so much for this, Mr Payne.”

Liam waved his hand through the dusty air carelessly.

“It’s no bother,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Ashton took that as the dismissal it was, following Niall out of the room at a brisk walk and only relaxing when they were halfway down the dark corridor outside.

“Well that went better than expected,” Ashton said as Frank let them out into the cold air again. His skin crawled at Frank’s eyes raking over him but Ashton barely noticed it as he took in the vaguely stunned look on Niall’s flushed face.

“My god,” the Irishman said with wide eyes as he led Ashton quickly back the way they’d come. “You didn’t call him ‘sir’ once!”

“Can’t help it,” Ashton said, shrugging half-heartedly even as he began to feel uncomfortably like Liam was still watching them. “I didn’t like him.”

Niall shushed Ashton half-heartedly but his blue eyes glittered despite himself.

“Mr Payne’s a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure,” the blond man said and Ashton grinned, bumping his shoulder lightly into Niall’s.

“I don’t like him as much as you, _Nialler_ ,” Ashton said, copying the nickname he’d heard back in Liam’s office.

Niall harrumphed good-naturedly but the relief he was feeling was so tangible that Ashton almost felt dizzy with it.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done for me, Niall,” the eighteen year old said and Niall’s blue eyes crinkled as he smiled crookedly.

“Don’t thank me yet, kid,” Niall said and, beneath his amusement, it was clear he meant it. “You haven’t even had your first day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Please please let me know what you thought!! :D  
> Thank you <3


	4. A Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ' _“I’m Harry,” the older man said. “Harry Styles. I hear a shopping trip is in order?” Despite himself, Ashton relaxed a little and Harry smiled slightly as he saw some of the tension leak out of the teenager’s shoulders. Already, Ashton could tell he liked Harry more than Liam._ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I'm sorry it's been so many months but I promise I'm still just as excited about this fic as I was at the beginning (over a year ago because I suck at updating...)  
> I'm going to do my best to update this a lot more frequently now and I really hope you'll all enjoy this update because I have so many ideas for it! :)  
> Thank you!

The next day dawned dark and cold with raindrops drumming against the smeared windows like icy fingers. Ashton woke with a start when he heard a soft knock on his door, raising his head from the nest of blankets he was curled beneath and blinking blearily up at Niall as the older man stood in the doorway.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Niall said sarcastically, rolling his eyes when Ashton made a scoffing sound. “Harry’s going to be here to pick you up in half an hour so get your arse in gear, okay, kid?” Niall’s expression softened fractionally and he leant across the small space to ruffle Ashton’s honey-coloured curls messily. “You’re gonna do great, kid. I just know it. Now, there’s a bacon sandwich on the table but I’m eating it if you’re not dressed in the next ten minutes.”

Ashton rolled out of bed pretty fast after that. He struggled into his ripped trousers and the same oversized shirt from yesterday, and he tugged his fingers through his messy curls with something bordering on frantic until Niall appeared with a slice of bread sticking out of his mouth and combed it down for him.

“There you go,” Niall said with something that was almost _pride_ as he took a big bite of his bread, sprinkling crumbs everywhere. “Once we’ve got you in a suit, you’re going to look perfect, kid.”

 _Perfect_?

Nobody had ever called Ashton perfect before.

He was still dwelling on that ten minutes later when a knock at the door sounded, startling him from his reverie. Niall went off to answer it and Ashton rose shakily from where he’d been sitting at the kitchen table. His heart pounded unevenly in his chest as he took in how the too-long sleeves of Niall’s shirt hung down over his trembling hands and how cold he felt in his ripped trousers.

Ashton knew he needed Harry to like him. After what Liam had said the day before about not wasting his resources by using Niall as a babysitter, Ashton was determined to develop at the very least amicable working relationships with everyone he possibly could. After all, the last thing he wanted was to be left deserted with someone horrible like Frank so if Ashton had other people he could trust, that would go a long way to helping put him at ease.

Ashton didn’t like thinking about Frank now. The older man’s greedy eyes made his flesh crawl and his stomach twisted sickeningly as nerves began to batter in the confines of his stomach.

‘ _Not everyone’s as honourable as old Nialler here_ ,’ Liam had jeered, and he had been correct. Ashton had been lucky to survive six months on the streets and a bitter taste welled on his tongue as he considered how _unfair_ it would be to have everything torn from him now… now that he was _finally_ on the path to the place he belonged.

Niall appeared back in the doorway then, taking in the tightness of Ashton’s pale face and mistaking it for fear at meeting Harry. The Irishman brushed Ashton’s wrist gently as he passed him but the younger boy could barely process the comfort for what it was because a stranger had just appeared in the doorway.

Harry Styles stood in the messy apartment with a surprisingly mild expression on his face, his hands buried in the pockets of an expensive-looking suit as he shook the rain from his dark curls. His hair was slicked back and his eyes were an unnervingly piercing green. Harry nodded his head at Ashton but didn’t extend a hand for him to shake.

“You must be Ashton,” the older man drawled in what the teenager _thought_ was an English accent. He was tall enough that a wary Ashton had to tip his head back to see his face, adjusting his fedora and straightening his back as he tried to make himself look bigger than he was, squaring his shoulders as he pretended to be brave and strong… like his father.

“I’m Harry,” the older man said. “Harry Styles. I hear a shopping trip is in order?” Despite himself, Ashton relaxed a little and Harry smiled slightly as he saw some of the tension leak out of the teenager’s shoulders. Already, Ashton could tell he liked Harry more than Liam.

“Mr Payne says I need new clothes,” Ashton answered and Niall relaxed behind them, sitting back down at the kitchen table as he pulled a manilla folder towards him from a briefcase he had resting on one of the empty chairs.

“Is that for the meet tonight?” Harry asked and Niall gave the younger man a distracted nod as he leafed through the pages. Harry nodded thoughtfully before he turned his green gaze to Ashton’s face. “You ready to go, Ashton?”

The teenager nodded, hurriedly pulling his peeling boots back on and shooting Niall a nervous smile before he followed Harry to the door of the apartment. The dark-haired man opened it and Ashton grimaced at the rain falling down in sheets outside, painting the world grey and bleak.

“After you,” Harry said with a cat’s smile, extending a hand and gesturing to a shiny black motor car parked outside the apartment building beside the stone steps. Ashton’s heart clenched with excitement and he looked up at Harry with wide hazel eyes, a smile fighting its way across his face without his permission. “You’ve never been in a motor car before?” Harry asked curiously and Ashton shook his head, completely mute as he took in the sleek metal and the polished black paint. “Guess I get to be your first then,” Harry said with a stupid wink and Ashton looked away, biting the inside of his mouth to keep his smile hidden as butterflies battered in his stomach.

Harry opened the door for him and Ashton wriggled in, sitting rigidly in the plush leather upholstery as he gazed at the dashboard with wide eyes. His fedora had mostly kept his curls dry but Ashton was still shivering in his torn clothes and Harry’s expression was almost sympathetic as he climbed into the driving seat.

“We’ll get you sorted out with some new clothes in no time, Ashton,” the older man reassured him before he pulled a face suddenly. “Say, you don’t mind if I call you Ashton do you? Because it would be common practice to refer to you as Mr Irwin but I’ve worked with your father rather a lot so it feels a little forced, especially when he used to talk about you so often.”

“Ashton is fine,” Ashton reassured him but the teenager was watching Harry curiously now as the older man maneuvered the car out onto the road, checking the mirrors for approaching vehicles. “So… you worked with my father? You knew him well?”

“Fairly well,” Harry confirmed as he drove down the dark street, frowning at the raindrops sliding down the glass. The dark-haired man didn’t seem keen to elaborate and Ashton tried not to let his disappointment show as he gripped the door handle tightly, his knuckles whitening. Driving made him feel slightly sick and he tried to concentrate on speaking instead of the rising nausea inside him.

“Someone called Zayn was supposed to collect me today,” Ashton said, slightly breathless as his stomach twisted. Perhaps travelling by car wasn’t for him after all. “But Niall didn’t think it was such a good idea.”

Harry laughed but it was a humourless sound.

“Zayn is… naturally wary,” the older man said slowly. “He can take a little getting used to.” Harry’s lips twisted and his brow creased with a frown. “Zayn doesn’t always trust strangers.”

“And you do?” Ashton asked curiously. Harry shook his head slowly.

“You’re not a stranger, Ashton.” The older man slowed down at a junction and Ashton pressed his lips together hard, swallowing against the saliva in his mouth as he began to break out in a cold sweat. “You know, you ask a lot of questions. It could get you into trouble.”

“I’m good at getting out of trouble,” Ashton said but Harry must have heard something strange in his voice because he looked over with something like alarm, taking in the teenager’s pale complexion and shallow breathing.

“Do you get motion sick, Ashton?” Harry demanded and Ashton shrugged helplessly as his stomach churned, making him whimper softly.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he whispered and Harry stamped on the brakes, bringing the car to a violent halt.

Ashton barely got the door open in time and the rest of the drive was embarrassingly awkward. Harry drove so slowly that other motorists grew impatient but it was the only way Ashton could keep the water Harry had made him drink down. They had the windows rolled down and Harry kept telling him to relax - told him to close his eyes and stop thinking so much - but it went against every survival instinct Ashton had and he put up with the sickness.

“Where are we actually going?” the teenager asked weakly when Harry turned down a busy high street, slipping into a parking space with ease.

“To visit Benito,” Harry replied.

The dark-haired man led Ashton towards a tailors with a hand resting in the small of his back, partly for reassurance and partly because Ashton was still a little unsteady on his feet after getting sick. Golden light spilt out of the shop windows into the bleak day and a bell chimed over the door when Harry ushered him inside out of the rain.

“Good morning, sir. How may I help you today?” a young woman with a neat chestnut updo asked from where she was standing behind the counter. Harry shot her a winning smile, leaning closer on the desk as he murmured something. Ashton thought he caught Liam’s name and the girl’s flirty expression faded to be replaced with something a lot more serious as she quickly led them behind the counter.

Ashton followed Harry down a dark hallway and into a brightly-lit parlour where a large, olive-skinned man with a thick black beard and a neat velvet waistcoat pulled the Englishman into a hug.

“Harry Styles! It has been far too long!”

“Benito, my friend! It’s so good to see you!”

To hazard a guess, Ashton thought the man might be Italian and he watched the exchange between the pair curiously as he lingered by the doorway. The girl had vanished back into the main shop now and he felt uneasy as he stood there waiting to be paid attention to.

At last, the enormous man - _Benito_ , Ashton’s mind supplied helpfully - turned to face him and the delight that lit up his face put Ashton on edge instantly.

“Well, I never thought I’d see the day!” the large man boomed. “You must be Fletcher Irwin’s son! You’re the spitting image of him - except for those horrible clothes. Are you here to get him measured for new clothes, Harry? Please, tell me you are. It’s a disgrace to walk around dressed like that when you share blood with such a hero.”

“Less of the hero talk,” Harry said but there was something fond in his eyes all the same. “Mr Payne has asked that we keep information… to a minimum.” Ashton bristled at that, at the knowledge that they were keeping secrets about Fletcher right in front of him, but he knew by this point that he had nothing to gain by demanding they tell him. He simply stood there quietly instead, attempting to look docile as the wild energy that always resided inside him crackled to life.

“Time to measure him for new suits, yes?” Benito asked hopefully and Harry’s smile was indulgent as he nodded, nudging Ashton gently forwards with a large hand on his shoulder. “I have just the thing,” the large man said, leading the teenager towards a second, darker back room. “Come, little man. Come with me.”

Ashton followed him - because what else was there to do? - but he quickly grew distracted as Benito made him try on suit after suit.

Niall had kept Ashton up late the night before, doing his best to fill in the gaps in Ashton’s knowledge on the important topics - Speakeasies and the Prohibition, and his new line of work - but Ashton’s weariness was catching up with him now and he barely commented as Benito wrestled him into new garments with an excitement which was doubly exhausting.

Ashton had to admit that he _had_ learnt a lot last night though so perhaps the lack of sleep had been worth it.

He now knew that alcohol had been prohibited on a national level in a useless attempt to reduce crime and corruption, to solve social problems - neither Ashton or Niall knew what sort of problems these might be - and to reduce the tax burdens created by prisons and poorhouses. Ashton shuddered at the thought of poorhouses but he kept thinking over what he’d learnt, aware that it was probably the only thing keeping him awake right now.

Ashton had learnt a lot about speakeasies too, sitting at the kitchen table with Niall into the early hours of the morning as the Irishman explained that the establishments - sometimes referred to as blind pigs or tigers, not that Ashton understood why - were gangster-owned replacements for the drinking establishments that had been legal before the ban.

It was interesting but it was also heavy and Ashton was tired just thinking about it. He knew there were Federal agents and police in place to prevent the organised crime from taking place but Ashton had _also_ learnt that the police were often easily bribed so the teenager was determined to figure out the best ways to do this.

He wanted to be good at his job, like his father must have been to earn such respect and mystique.

“Ah, this one is perfect!” Benito declared and Ashton looked up into a mirror partially obscured by a thick blue curtain. He glimpsed a charcoal grey suit that matched his fedora over a crisp navy blue shirt and, with his hat pulled down over his eyes like that, Ashton’s breath caught painfully in his throat.

“You look just like your father, little man,” Benito said softly, his tone almost awed now, and Ashton looked up at him with wide eyes, swallowing in vain past the thickening in his throat. Benito glanced cautiously towards where Harry was waiting in the parlour before he looked back down at Ashton again, winking jovially. “You really are the spitting image of Fletcher,” Benito said slowly.

“Please,” Ashton breathed and his voice was strained with longing now. “Please, what was he like to work with? Can you tell me, sir? I’ll keep it a secret, I swear.”

“You _swear_ do you, little man? Very well then.” Benito winked again and Ashton wondered why nobody ever took him seriously. Maybe it was because there were safety pins holding his jacket in place before Benito could make the finishing touches. “Fletcher Irwin was a good man. Not a kind one. Not a proud one… but a good one, in all the ways that counted.”

Ashton’s vision jarred as he remembered the drugs in their little plastic bags; the joy of sitting on his father’s shoulders and being taught how to clean a gun; the occasional strikes and Fletcher’s soft voice as he read Oliver Twist to his only child; the soft tune he whistled as he marched off to war without a backwards glance at his only child.

Ashton didn’t know if he agreed with Benito or not but it meant a lot that the older man trusted him and, no matter what, Ashton was sure he would always love Fletcher.

“Thank you, sir,” the teenager said quietly. “For the suits. For… for _this_. For everything.”

“Nonsense. Do not thank me yet, little man!” Benito said, back to his usual booming voice now. “First you must help me pick out shirts and shoes for you! And then we will show Harry what we have picked, yes?”

“Sure,” Ashton said, managing a tight smile as he began to daydream about escaping from the shadowy room and running back through the rain to Niall’s apartment… to a place that - unnervingly - was beginning to feel like _home_ now.

“Aha! We are finished!” Benito cried jubilantly some twenty minutes later and Ashton blinked himself out of the stupor he had settled into. “Harry!” the tailor called, raising his voice as he marched out into the brightly-lit parlour with a pile of neatly folded shirts and Ashton’s new polished shoes sitting neatly on top. “Prepare yourself. It is time to meet the new and improved... Mr Ashton Irwin!”

Ashton’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment but he couldn’t deny that there was a part of himself that was ecstatic that he finally had the chance to embrace the man he wanted to be.

It meant so much that he was being given this chance.

“Thank you, sir,” Ashton repeated and, this time, Benito accepted it, bowing his head with an easy grace and settling his hands on his hips as he looked at the teenager approvingly, apparently proud of the suit he would be completing for him.

“That’s perfect!” Harry said, his whole face lighting up. “You look like a real business man now, Ashton! No rag-a-muffins in sight! How do you like the suit?”

Ashton tried not to smile but he couldn’t help it.

“I feel swell,” Ashton said and Benito’s face crinkled into a smile as Harry clapped the teenager on the shoulder.

Ashton _glowed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I really hope you liked this and I'd love to hear what you thought :)  
> If all goes to plan, you should all be meeting some more members of the gang next time and Ashton will have to be a fast learner...  
> I hope you guys enjoyed this! Please let me know :)


	5. The Shadow Of A Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ' _Seeing Niall so vulnerable made him look_ breakable _almost and it scared Ashton more than he could say as he stood beside the Irishman in the cool wintery air gusting into the room, wondering why everything around them felt so fragile._ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I FINALLY UPDATED!  
> Sorry it took me 90333737374 years.  
> Hopefully this doesn't totally suck.

When autumn changed to winter that year, Ashton’s life changed irrevocably once more.

As he watched the world grow darker and colder outside, he felt safe living in the cramped apartment with Niall. Fighting for survival on the streets felt like something that had happened to someone else now and Ashton knew he never would have made it on his own.

He refused to let his current situation make him grow lax though; Ashton knew he couldn’t afford to do that. Liam had started to give Ashton small jobs now - acting as lookout and collecting packages with contents he could only guess at - but barely any of the gang members trusted him and Ashton couldn’t let himself appear helpless. That would be almost suicidal here.

He strove to learn from his mistakes instead and, for the most part, Ashton succeeded.

He learnt not to ask questions unless it was absolutely necessary (and to _only_ ask Niall and Harry because they weren’t liable to spit either contemptuously or literally at him). He learnt to avoid Frank at all costs, lest he get pressed up against the wall of another dark corridor again with his heart in his throat and his nails set in the old man’s face.

Most of all though, Ashton learnt to avoid the Speakeasy’s main room where the gang members often congregated during their downtime.

Ashton learnt that one the hard way during his first week working for Liam.

He wandered in at noon, planning vaguely to meet up with Niall and suggest that they headed into downtown Chicago for food when perhaps twenty men of varying ages and races had jerked their heads up to glare at him.

Ashton’s first reaction - after intense embarrassment - was to be astounded that he had somehow managed to pass unnoticed up until that point. Wasn’t idle gossip common here? And how had they managed to avoid being caught by the Bureau if they didn’t even notice a newcomer in their midst? Then, with a sinking feeling in his gut, Ashton realised that they had simply been ignoring him, having apparently decided that he wasn’t worth their time until he stumbled into the space where they let their guard down.

Ashton hated it; hated the forced anonymity with a strength that shocked him as the wild energy that always resided inside him crackled ferociously in his veins. He had never relished being treated like a child - that was something that bothered him more and more as he grew - and the realisation that they had all decided he wasn’t worth their time before even bothering to get to know him cut deep.

Ashton hated that they didn’t think he was worth trusting, _especially_ when they’d supposedly all respected Fletcher Irwin so much. Ashton wasn’t stupid; he knew he would never be as great a man as his father had been - and if that felt uncertain now, he refused to dwell on it - but the teenager had never felt so suffocated by a ghost before… by the shadow of a man who would never step foot here again.

Their staring eyes were still fixed on him; some cold, some curious, and some even _angry_. Ashton bristled, felt his hackles rising as his hands curled into fists. Niall had half-risen from where he was sitting across the room and even Harry’s expression was strained but, just as Ashton took a jerky step forwards - to snap something defensive, to shoot Niall a pleading look; he hadn’t decided yet - a hand clapped down heavily on his shoulder.

Ashton flinched, vision jarring for a moment as he remembered a childhood of strikes for being careless or rude or clumsy or… or having _faith_.

‘ _He was a good man,_ ’ Ashton intoned desperately, squeezing his hazel eyes tightly shut for a moment as he lowered his head beneath the fedora. ‘ _My father was a good man. He had to be or I’ll have nothing left._ ’

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Liam’s voice was smooth and his hand remained heavy on Ashton’s narrow shoulder, the action deliberately condescending… although perhaps Ashton was doing him an injustice. “What seems to be the problem here?”

No one spoke for a long moment and Liam’s fingers tightened in Ashton’s shoulder, creasing his suit, before sliding away. The older man buried his hands in the pockets of his suit as he leant back against a mahogany table nearby, and the movement was so deliberately casual that it immediately sent warning bells ringing in Ashton’s head.

“Oh, come on now,” Liam said, the warmth in his tone not reaching his dark shark eyes. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“Not _all_ of us, sir,” a tall, dark-haired man muttered and Ashton’s shoulders rose defensively when he felt the stranger’s wary eyes fixed on him. Liam sighed quietly.

“Mr Malik,” he said slowly, his tone almost… _weary_. “Must we repeat this every time a new member joins us?” A few titters broke out and the man - Zayn - glared fiercely at Ashton. “First with Niall and now with young Ashton here…” The teenager squared his jaw at the word ‘young’ but he remained silent. “The kid belongs here, as much as any of you do. Perhaps more so.”

Ashton fixed his gaze on the wooden panels beneath his feet as whispers broke out around the room; none of them sounded friendly. Ashton wondered if Liam realised he was potentially making things worse… and then he wondered if Liam even _cared_.

“With all due respect, I’m not sure that’s true, sir.” Ashton spoke without thinking, tacking on the respectful term at the last second to avoid potentially having someone throw a punch at him. “These fine gentlemen have been working with you for a very long time and I’ve only just got here. I’ve yet to prove myself to them. I don’t blame them for being… appropriately cautious.”

Ashton glanced up beneath the rim of his hat, catching Niall’s blue gaze with something like desperation and relaxing fractionally when he saw the Irishman nod almost imperceptibly. Ashton glanced around, took in the tension leaking out of some of the strangers although Zayn stayed looking unfriendly and cold.

Ashton forced a weak smile onto his face, opening his hands in what was hopefully a reassuring gesture that would put them at ease. When he chanced a glance sideways, Ashton saw Liam suppressing an almost _triumphant_ smile with apparently difficulty.

“Well said, Ashton,” Liam said and the teenager wondered why he wasn’t addressed as ‘Mr Irwin’ in the same way that the rest of the men were spoken to. His tone was almost kind though and some of the strangers who had previously looked uncertain seemed almost grudgingly respectful now. “However, I think that’s enough idle chatter for today, don’t you?” Liam smiled for a moment but his expression hardened as he clapped his hands together firmly. “Now back to work.”

Ashton left the room sharpish, his leather shoes squeaking on the panels covering the floor as he hurried back towards the cramped room Niall used as an office. The Irishman had cleared some of the desk for Ashton to sit at and the teenager was grateful for it now; he needed somewhere to hide away from the unfriendly eyes following him.

Niall wasn’t inside when Ashton reached it but he let himself in gratefully, pushing the door shut and wriggling through the piles of files and boxes of documents so that he could sink down into the uncomfortable wooden chair Harry had sourced for him a few weeks before.

Ashton thought again of what had just occurred in the other room and the anxiety ignited in him like wildfire as he remembered the anger twisting their faces and the poisonous glare that Zayn had levelled at him. The teenager’s heart was already beating too fast but he felt _sick_ when he realised there hadn’t just been anger and curiosity in the gang members’ eyes when they’d stared at him; there had been _fear_ too.

A pile of battered old books rested nearby and Ashton watched them morosely as he sat there; he'd been leafing through them a lot recently while he waited for someone to find him something to do and he was growing restless.

The door handle suddenly turned and Ashton looked up sharply, hazel eyes widening as he remembered the furious, wary expressions of the gang members in the main room… as he remembered _Frank_ and felt his blood run cold in his veins.

“Kid?” a soft voice asked and Ashton’s relief made him boneless as he slumped down onto the chair. “Kid, are you in here?”

Niall closed the door softly behind him and Ashton straightened up from where he’d sank down beneath the pile of books. The Irishman’s expression softened but there was something regretful in his face as he closed the distance between them, raising Ashton’s chin carefully with his thumb.

“Hey, Niall,” Ashton said weakly, his slight smile bleeding away quickly. Niall worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaning heavily against the edge of the desk. When Ashton nodded before giving a half-hearted shrug, the Irishman’s expression grew troubled. “I’m sorry they reacted like that, kid. I… I didn’t realise so many of them would listen to Zayn, y’know? I mean, Louis will listen to almost anything he says but… I don’t know. I guess I just expected more from the others.”

Ashton shrugged again, reaching to fix his fedora where it was slipping down over his eyes. It made him feel about five years old and he hated it; hated the restless energy coiling through him that put him so on edge.

“You dealt with them very well though,” Niall tacked on as an afterthought, his blue eyes gentle enough that Ashton felt himself relaxing fractionally. “I think you’ll be fine in the end. It just might take them a little while.”

“Thank you, Nialler,” Ashton said, his tone slightly teasing as he knew Niall didn’t exactly adore the nickname. “You have a meeting this afternoon, right?”

“Sure,” Niall said but he still looked faintly troubled. “Can’t really talk about it with you right now though, kid. I’m sorry. The others will have my guts for garters if I do.”

Ashton smiled humourlessly, deciding in that moment that he _would_ earn the gang members’ respect. He didn’t care how long it took.

“I understand,” he said. “You want me to stay here in case any other work comes up or…?”

“I spoke to Mr Payne and he agreed that maybe it would be wise to… give everyone some space this afternoon,” Niall said uncomfortably. “Now he’s trusting you to take home some important documents, okay? I don’t want you to look at them - plausible deniability just in case, right? - but if you could leave them in my room then you can have the rest of the day for yourself,” the Irishman said. The story sounded weak to Niall’s own ears but Liam had asked him to say this and the blond man wasn’t going to ignore his orders.

Ashton chewed on his lip uneasily, considering this before he gave Niall a wan smile.

“Thanks,” the teenager said hesitantly. “I think that sounds like a good idea.” He glanced towards the dark corridor outside and his face fell somewhat. “You wanna walk me out?” Ashton asked, winking because he didn’t want Niall to realise he was scared to walk past Frank again.

Niall rolled his eyes fondly but his hand was warm on Ashton’s shoulder.

“Course I will, kid,” the Irishman said with a wry smile. “These are the documents here. You just lead the way.”

Ashton headed out of the door ahead of him and Niall watched him go protectively. The briefcase containing the documents was dangling from Ashton’s hand and Niall fought down on his unease as he followed the teenager out into the dark corridor.

The documents related to a meet that would be taking place next month with another gang and Liam had given them to Niall on purpose, wanting them to be passed onto Ashton so he could see how the teenager would carry out this duty. Liam was apparently planning on inviting Ashton to help out with the meet anyway - hopefully only acting as a lookout again although Niall wasn’t certain - and the mobster wanted to see if Ashton would read them despite being told not to.

He seemed to think he’d be able to tell even without any of his men being present and the thought unnerved Niall more than he would have thought possible. He didn’t like thinking of Liam’s dark eyes roving over the apartment; it felt unsafe and it didn’t sit well with him.

“C’mon, kid,” Niall said when Ashton hesitated. “You can start supper when you get home too if you run out of things to do. I don’t fancy another night of beef stew.”

Ashton smirked, bumping his elbow against Niall’s ribs as they headed out into the bright sunlight together.

“But I thought that was your speciality.”

Ashton continued teasing Niall until they were well past Frank and round the corner - and if he felt the old man’s eyes fixed on his back then Ashton pointedly didn’t let himself shudder - but he fell quiet when he started the long walk home alone, angling his fedora down so that his hazel eyes were hidden. Ashton went straight back to the apartment and left the briefcase on Niall’s bed just like he’d promised, and he got all the way into his own room and slumped down on his bed before he realised the restlessness in his veins was curiosity.

The documents weren’t very exciting when Ashton finally plucked up the courage to read them. They just detailed a meet that would be happening the next month where a _lot_ of prohibited alcohol would be exchanged for cash and Ashton frowned down at the paper with something like disappointment. Was this the sort of document Fletcher had read when he’d been too busy to spend time with Ashton back on the ranch?

It stung that Ashton had been cast aside for this and being in a gang _definitely_ wasn’t going the way the teenager had expected. Still, he was willing to fight for it and perhaps that was all that mattered. His attitude certainly seemed to help anyway and, a few weeks later, things were beginning to change again, although - _this_ time - it was for the better.

The other members’ initial suspicion had mostly worn off now, with the exception of Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson. Ashton didn’t much like them and they _definitely_ didn’t like him - or, more accurately, his father (at least from what the teenager could gather) - but Ashton was willing to do whatever it took to make them respect him. He just wanted to feel like he belonged there.

Work got harder but Ashton was grateful for that. It meant Liam was trusting him more deeply and the teenager was determined not to mess things up.

He’d learnt not to even ask Niall and Harry for help during certain tasks because the other members took offense to it the first few times, insisting that he was asking _far_ too many questions which had ignited spiteful whispers that Ashton was a  _spy_ , sent from the Bureau or a rival gang to cause them trouble. This probably wasn't helped by the fact that Ashton was never afraid to help with the more blatantly illegal aspects of their operations but, after a childhood spent with Fletcher, the teenager never batted an eye.

Ashton supposed he should be flattered. At least that meant he was doing a worryingly good job at working well.

Niall didn’t seem to share Ashton’s sentiments though. Every day he looked a little more anxious than he had done the day before and the teenager felt terrible that he was causing the Irishman so much stress. Ashton thought he might know why it was though: Niall had joined the gang in much the same position as Ashton but, while the teenager had been actively interested in joining (and was _still_ determined to make it work), Niall had never seemed to really enjoy it.

Thinking back to that day in the office with Liam, Niall had seemed _frightened_ and… and Ashton wished he knew why because, sure, maybe Liam _could_ be condescending and sometimes downright furious but… but he was _fair_ , wasn’t he?

Ashton was starting to think so now. Liam treated him well enough and he trusted the teenager more than Ashton probably had any right to expect, and some of the gang members (besides Niall and Harry) almost treated him with _respect_ now, especially after Liam had let it slip to them one day that Ashton was the famous gambler they’d heard so much about. That - combined with him being Fletcher’s son - meant that they finally stopped watching him with so much coldness, waiting for him to mess up. Ashton didn’t know why they’d changed their minds.

All he _did_ know was that it only encouraged him to work harder. He wanted to feel needed; _important_. He felt like something was missing and maybe this was it.

He thought it might have a lot to do with his father too though. With every cryptic comment about Fletcher that reached Ashton’s curious ears, he became more and more aware of the huge tangled past he had in Chicago that Ashton knew next to nothing _about_.

Despite all of the uncertainty though, Ashton quite liked it there. People weren’t treated badly because of their race or religion; he just wished the same could be said for sexuality but that had never been the case before and, unfortunately, maybe it never would be. It was the same for gender too though and Ashton witnesses that all the time.

Liam was in a messed up relationship with a lady called Sophia who Ashton had seen around the Speakeasy a few times now and he only had to look at the poorly-masked frustration on her face to see how much the sexist environment was grinding her down. A tiny part of him wanted to tell her that he understood; that he’d heard the gang members making crude homophobic jokes and that it had made something wither unpleasantly inside him but, mostly, Ashton just wanted to work hard and keep his head down.

He didn’t want to think about the possibility of him potentially liking men in the way he _should_ have liked girls. It was easier to bury his head in the sand and pretend he couldn’t hear Niall with whoever he’d managed to bring home every Friday night.

Luckily, Ashton was too tired to dwell on his feelings now though, despite them building inside him until they were almost impossible to keep locked away anymore. Two months had passed since that awkward lunch time in the Speakeasy and Ashton’s role continued to expand which made him happy.

He arranged meets and safe points for the gang members to collect illegal alcohol without police or agents finding out, and Ashton was proving to be very, _very_ good at being discreet. Niall joked that Ashton would be overseeing the trades soon but Liam seemed to agree with him and Ashton thought it might be worth the stress if it made him feel like he belonged.

Liam had given Ashton other tasks too; the teenager got to meet with contacts and gather information from them, and Ashton was so desperate to prove himself and finally find somewhere that he fit in that he was willing to do anything to prove it.

By the end of those few months as winter rolled icily across Chicago, Ashton had almost forgotten how much he had disliked Liam and what his first impression of the older man had been back in the beginning; that he was _dangerous_ and not to be trusted.

Ashton wanted Liam to be proud of him like Niall was.

*

“Kid? Are you home?” Niall called as he unlocked the front door. He heard an answering mumble coming from deeper in the apartment and Niall’s lips twitched faintly as he took his shoes off in the hallway, lining them up beside Ashton’s on dusty wooden panels that badly needed to be cleaned.

Niall shed his overcoat and jacket, and dropped his hat onto a low table in the hallway, loosening his tie as he followed the sound of the teenager into the doorway of the small bedroom he had made his own. There were peeling newspaper articles pinned to the walls and the floor was a mess of crumpled shirts which Ashton _definitely_ needed to tidy up while he could still glimpse the wooden panels beneath.

“Good evening?” Niall asked curiously, leaning heavily against the doorframe as he stood there in his socks. Ashton looked up with a tired smile from where he’d been lying on his bed with a book; he was wearing one of the Irishman’s old, oversized plaid shirts as night clothes and it made him look _small_ almost… easily breakable.

Niall felt guilt twist in his stomach as he looked at Ashton lying curled up there like a little cat.

The Irishman was growing undeniably fond of the teenager now but it was made bitter because, when he looked at Ashton, Niall saw a younger version of himself and he didn’t want the teenager to feel the same way he did now: Scared. Lonely. _Trapped_.

Watching an uncertain Ashton slowly being accepted by the gang members reminded Niall too much of what had happened to him back in the beginning and he _knew_ that wasn’t something he wanted for Ashton… but it just so happened that they were in too late to back out now.

Niall should have put his foot down and said no outright when he’d had the chance.

He shouldn’t have given Liam this hold over him and spun Ashton stories like this when Niall knew better than that.

He shouldn’t have been such a coward.

“I need to smoke,” Niall said gruffly and Ashton’s face fell fractionally when the Irishman pushed away from the doorway, disappearing into the kitchen. He pushed the stiff window open with an audible creak as he searched in his pockets for a cigarette, lighting it with mild difficulty.

Ashton appeared behind Niall as he exhaled shakily out into the darkness of an early evening, padding across the cold tiles in his bare feet with the book he’d been reading cradled to his chest. The teenager came to a hesitant stop beside him and, when Niall did nothing more than grunt his acknowledgement, Ashton let his head fall to rest lightly against the older man’s broad shoulder in the crisp shirt he was wearing.

Niall let out a shuddering breath and Ashton felt slightly alarmed when he glanced to the side in time to see tears welling in the older man’s eyes. Ashton pressed his lips together hard, simply leaning a little closer and breathing in the comforting smell of Niall’s aftershave as the blond man finished his cigarette, stubbing it out with shaking fingers.

Seeing Niall so vulnerable made him look _breakable_ almost and it scared Ashton more than he could say as he stood beside the Irishman in the cool wintery air gusting into the room, wondering why everything around them felt so fragile.

“What book were you reading?” Niall asked softly, his voice thick with the tears that Ashton was kind enough not to draw attention to. The teenager let out a quiet sigh, holding the battered book tighter.

“Oliver Twist,” Ashton replied softly, his thumb rubbing lightly across the dog-eared corners like it was a comfort blanket of sorts. “It’s my favourite.”

“Why?” Niall asked and Ashton blinked in surprise as he gazed out into the black night sky, trying to gather his thoughts. He was growing cold now but Niall showed no signs of moving and Ashton didn’t want to leave him here alone.

“Every time I read it... I learn something new,” Ashton said slowly. “I find a new quote or… or something that makes me _feel_ a certain way that it never managed before. It’s like talking to an old friend.”

Niall smiled but his blue eyes looked wet again.

“Tell me a quote,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse now. “Tell me something that makes you feel.”

Ashton glanced up at the older man in surprise before a tiny smile curved hesitantly across his lips as he leafed through the pages, searching for a particular quote he had in mind.

“This one is pretty good,” Ashton said after a few moments of silent searching, still trying for a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes. “‘ _There are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best parts_ '. Remind you of anyone?”

Niall rolled his twinkling eyes, giving a fake sounding cough as he mumbled something that sounded quite a lot like Liam’s name. Ashton pretended not to hear him as he repeated it and, although Niall shushed him reprovingly, the Irishman’s lips quirked into a small smile which almost looked _real_ until Ashton admitted that he was only joking.

When Niall looked down and saw the grudging respect in Ashton’s eyes, his stomach twisted with nausea and he swallowed thickly against the lump rising in his throat. He could see the hope unfolding in the teenager’s face now that Niall knew to look for it and it _hurt_ because… Niall had been like that too once… back before he felt so faded.

Niall could feel his concern growing on his face as he watched Ashton padding back towards his bedroom with a muffled yawn. The teenager was a good five years younger than him and Niall was starting to look on the Texan as a little brother almost and… god, Niall just didn’t want to see him get hurt.

Ashton glanced back over his shoulder as he left the room, taking in the worry marring Niall’s pale face as he wrung his hands together, and Ashton could feel his heart aching in his chest a little as the distance between them grew.

It didn’t matter what Ashton’s intentions had been when he’d first met Niall. It didn’t even matter that Ashton had been unwilling to let Niall get close to him because, somewhere along the way, Niall had become his rock in Ashton’s otherwise tempestuous life.

Niall had got _close_ to him and Ashton couldn’t push him away now… but he couldn’t lose him either; _especially_ when he caught the Irishman’s gaze and saw Niall watching him with that same melancholy mixture of concerned fondness which hinted that maybe he felt the same way.

Ashton hated to let himself rely on someone else now but… but he’d hate to lose Niall even more probably.

Especially after he’d already lost Fletcher.

Ashton didn’t think he could _survive_ losing someone he cared about again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!  
> I really hope you liked it <3


	6. Strike Like A Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ' _When Ashton finally made it back home to Niall hours later – groaning with nausea from the short car ride and splattered with someone else’s blood – the Irishman couldn’t drag Ashton into his arms fast enough._ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry this took me so long to update but I hope you'll all enjoy it; this fic is hard to write but I love it.  
> Fingers crossed you like it! :)

Ashton hated the storage room below the Speakeasy with a passion.

It was cold and damp, and the single light bulb swaying overhead in the icy draught did nothing to permeate the blackness. Ashton was on his knees counting their stock and the grim expression on his exhausted face refused to fade.

He and Harry had been out late the night before on a trade job that had gone south. It should have been simple – all they needed to do was meet up with a rival gang like they’d done a hundred times before and hand over the money in exchange for liquor – but the other gang had betrayed them in exchange for the release of some of their members from prison.

The Bureau agents who had been sent to capture the pair of them melted out of the darkness to surround them and Ashton had reacted instinctively, tearing the flick knife Harry had given him from his pocket and launching himself at the closest agent who was drawing a pistol from his holster.

Ashton hadn’t killed him – Harry had taken care of that with his own gun before the teenager had to make that awful decision – but it still sat badly in the teenager’s stomach. He knew it had been necessary – neutralise or be taken – but that hadn’t stopped the lump rising in his throat as he covered Harry’s back while the older man made quick work of the agents.

Harry pursed his lips unhappily when the last agent fell but he didn’t bother to make any excuses; he felt his actions had been justified. If he’d left any of them alive, they might have followed the pair of them back to the Speakeasy and confirmed the rumours but all Ashton could think was that, somehow, seeing the blood speckling Harry’s crisp white shirt as he swiftly holstered his gun made everything seem so much more real.

When Ashton finally made it back home to Niall hours later – groaning with nausea from the short car ride and splattered with someone else’s blood – the Irishman couldn’t drag Ashton into his arms fast enough. The teenager didn’t realise his hazel eyes were swimming with tears until Niall drew back to look at him and the choked sound that escaped the blond man forced a sob out of Ashton’s throat.

“Is he hurt?” Niall asked Harry in a low voice, never taking his eyes from Ashton as the dark-haired man stepped hesitantly closer, shutting the door behind them securely. “Is this his blood? Harry, answer me! What the fuck _happened_ out there?!”

“He’s fine,” the younger man said smoothly, one hand coming to settle on Ashton’s shoulder although the teenager shied away, unable to forget the calm expression on Harry’s face as he shot people. “He’s not hurt. That blood was pumping through a Bureau agent not so long ago.”

Niall’s face paled at that and he led Ashton into the kitchen, his expression unhappy as he realised the teenager was rapidly going into shock. Harry began making tea of his own accord and Niall felt a little of the tension bleed away as he sat down heavily at the table, keeping one of Ashton’s trembling hands held firmly between his own.

“I…” Ashton’s voice was little more than a whisper and he was shaking badly now as he folded one of his arms on the table, burying his face in it. The fedora fell from his head but he didn’t make any move to right it. “I didn’t kill him but I… I had to...”

“I know,” Niall whispered, one hand settling in the teenager’s soft curls as Ashton struggled to get his breath back. “You did what you had to do. I’m glad you’re safe.” He didn’t make any comments about how he hadn’t wanted Ashton to carry a weapon in the first place; Ashton looked absolutely bone-tired now and Niall could see it wouldn’t help anything.

“Someone betrayed us,” Harry said as he set a mug down in front of Ashton, wrapping his hand around it for him. “Drink up; it’ll help,” the Englishman added, his voice kinder. For a moment, Ashton remembered that day at Benito’s tailors and the way Harry had done everything he could to set him at ease. Then he remembered the sound of the shots ringing in his ears and he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“You need to go to Mr Payne with this,” Niall said and there was poorly-concealed urgency in his voice now although his blue eyes – still concerned – became harder. His fist slammed into the table and Ashton flinched. Chagrined, Niall forced himself to appear calmer than he was. “The pair of you could have been arrested or killed,” he said with poorly-suppressed anger. “If we’ve been betrayed by Collins’ damn gang then –”

“I know,” Harry said. “I’ll take care of it; don’t worry.” His green eyes flickered to where a wide-eyed Ashton was carefully taking a sip of the sugary tea and his expression softened fractionally. “Hey, Ash,” Harry prompted gently and the teenager looked up at him slowly, his eyelashes sticky with tears although a faint trace of his usual determination was colouring his tanned face again.

“Yeah, Harry?” he breathed. The Englishman smiled and Niall let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“You did so good tonight,” Harry said softly. “You didn’t panic and you took out two of them on your own, and we couldn’t be prouder of you, okay?”

“Okay,” Ashton murmured, a tiny smile touching his lips. “Thank you.” His dimples creased his cheeks faintly despite himself and he tried for a weak grin that _almost_ touched his eyes.

“You’ll feel better in no time, kid,” the Irishman said reassuringly but, when Ashton looked over at him with just a trace of fading uncertainty in his hazel eyes, Niall realised that that was just what he was afraid of.

He had got used to this sort of bloody work once and now it didn’t bother him anymore. He barely had nightmares and killing someone meant little if it would secure his own safety or the safety of the people he cared about.

Niall didn’t want that to happen to the teenager.

He didn’t want Ashton to grow so cold.

“Well, I better be off if I’m going to catch Mr Payne before dawn,” Harry said suddenly, stirring Niall from his thoughts. The Englishman ruffled Ashton’s curls as he pushed away from the counter and his green eyes were glittering in the soft light. “You were a force to be reckoned with tonight, Ash,” Harry reminded him as he headed for the doorway. “I’m gonna make sure Mr Payne hears about this.”

That was quite possibly the reason Ashton wasn’t more surprised when Liam’s girlfriend Sophia appeared in the doorway of the storage room Ashton was crouched in.

He had been busily scribbling down calculations on how much longer their stock would last before another trade was necessary – the bitterness he felt at the betrayal only grew with every empty liquor crate he found – and Ashton was shivering with the cold by the time he welcomed Sophia’s arrival for the distraction it was.

“Miss Sophia,” the teenager said with mild surprise. “Can I help with you something?” She rolled her dark eyes fondly at the title but the usual anger that made her face tighten was gone now; she’d had a soft spot for the Texan ever since he’d made some barbed comment to one of the more sexist gang members at the risk of losing the little respect he had been able to gain.

She found him amusing and honest, and his self-deprecating humour reminded her shockingly of Fletcher although she hadn’t mentioned this to the teenager. She had a feeling it might not have been very well received.

“Less of the _Miss_ ,” she sighed, just like always. “How are you doing, Irwin? I hear you had an exciting time last night.” Her voice twisted a little around the words and she knew she hadn’t imagined the delicate wince as Ashton looked at her wearily.

“It was interesting; I’ll give you that.” His hand fell to where the flick knife was tucked away safely in his pocket and he tried not to look as hollow as he felt. “Has Harry been regaling everyone with my astounding feats of bravery?” The sarcasm in his tone was almost unnoticeable but Sophia’s eyes flashed as she smiled, the warmth of it taking the teenager by surprise.

“He has actually,” she confessed. “It’s been annoying Malik and Tomlinson no end which is always amusing.” She leant back against the doorframe, crossing her arms over the silk blouse she was wearing as her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders. “He said you were fearless when you were ambushed. Was he lying?”

“Slightly,” Ashton admitted although a little tension was settling in his shoulders now as he began to realise that perhaps Sophia wasn’t asking these questions out of idle curiosity; it seemed more than likely that Liam had asked her to. “I _was_ scared. I just… didn’t think it was a helpful emotion at the time… so I decided to deal with it later instead.”

His hands began to shake faintly as he spoke but Ashton buried them quickly in the pockets of his suit trousers, crumpling the small notebook in his fist as he rose.

“I’m about done here,” he said. “Mr Payne asked me to report back to him with my findings so…”

“That works out well then,” the older woman said, waving an arm towards the light spilling in from the doorway as Ashton headed towards her. “Liam sent me down to collect you. He’d like to talk to you in his office.” The teenager’s heart rate quickened a little upon hearing that but Sophia’s face softened suddenly as she gave his arm a quick squeeze. “I’m glad you’re safe, Irwin. Now go upstairs to see Liam and mind your tongue, okay? He’s not having a good day today.”

Ashton headed back upstairs quickly with her warning ringing in his ears and his heart sank in his chest when he saw Frank lingering in the darkness by the Speakeasy’s main entrance. Ashton’s hand curled around the flick knife and his expression must have been more aggressive than he’d intended because the old man slunk back into the shadows, leaving the teenager free to walk unhindered.

Ashton knocked on the door at the end of the long corridor and he opened it hesitantly when Liam called for him to enter. The bright light of the office was blinding after the darkness of the corridor (as Ashton was sure Liam had intended it to be) and it took Ashton a moment for his eyes to adjust.

When they did, his heart sank in his chest.

“Good morning, sir,” Ashton said through gritted teeth. “Mr Malik. Mr Tomlinson.”

Louis grunted his reply. Zayn didn’t say anything at all. The leader of the gang raised his eyebrow wryly.

“So nice to see that we’re all in such good cheer this morning!” Liam said jovially and Ashton barely stopped himself from snorting in amusement. The older man’s dark eyes found his face and, when Liam winked at him companionably, Ashton felt himself visibly relaxing. He didn’t much care how much Zayn and Louis hated him; they couldn’t very well do anything to him now and especially not when Liam was here.

“I suppose you must be wondering why I’ve called you all here today,” he said, palms falling to settle open on the dark panelled wood of his desk. His revolver lay polished and gleaming on the surface, and the amber whiskey in its crystal bottles sent shards of light glinting across its surface.

“First of all, I wanted to congratulate Ashton on a job well done last night. He coped very well and I would like to make it known that he has _more_ than proved himself to be a loyal member.” Liam’s eyes flashed at that and the two men standing across from him shifted guiltily as Ashton’s cheeks heated at the praise.

“Secondly –” Liam’s voice grew noticeably colder and Ashton was glad the older man’s glare hadn’t settled on him. “I’ve seen that you two seem to have… let’s say an ‘issue’ with Ashton here.” Liam let the two men stew for a moment before he leant forwards, his hands curling into fists. “Do either of you want to tell me what the problem is?”

His voice stayed calm and almost _gentle_ but, somehow, that only made him more sinister.

“Well…” Zayn looked like he was floundering and Ashton took no small amount of satisfaction from that although he was careful to keep it from his face, simply gazing on ahead as Liam glanced at him with something like approval. “The kid’s a stranger and –”

“Wrong,” Liam said sharply. Louis flinched back and Zayn flickered a quick, furious glance at Ashton before looking back sullenly at Liam again. “We’ve been over this, Malik. He’s Fletcher’s son. He’s been here for months and, to top it all off, he’s working harder than any of us and – Oh, don’t look at him like that! You know it’s the truth! The kid’s been working harder than any of us and you two acting like he’s about to turn you into the Bureau is getting on my last damn nerve. You think you can work properly if you’re just pouting and sulking? Because _I_ damn well don’t!”

The gun was in his hand now and, although he was making a show of polishing it as he took a deep breath to calm his breathing, all three of their eyes were locked on the weapon. Liam picking it up it had undoubtedly been a calculated movement and the threat in his dark eyes was palpable.

Ashton struggled to keep the shock off his face as he processed Liam’s words but there was something fiercely proud burning in his chest all the same. Liam Payne was one of the most infamous, notorious gangsters in all of America and here he was defending Ashton from two of his most long-lasting members.

“You’re… you’re right, sir,” Louis murmured at last, earning a betrayed look from Zayn as the blue-eyed man frowned down at the floor. “We’re sorry.”

Liam didn’t tell them that it wasn’t him they should be apologising to; after all, their work ethic had gone out the window and he was sure their profits would have suffered for it. Liam wasn’t yet appeased though, despite the obvious air of discomfort Ashton was exuding as he stood between them.

Zayn’s jaw was set, his cheeks flushed with poorly-suppressed anger, presumably at being forced to stand beside Ashton. Louis looked much the same although his blue eyes constantly flickered to Zayn, almost like he was making his next moves based on whatever the younger man did. Liam’s eyes missed nothing and he filed that away for a later date as his gaze drifted down to Ashton.

The teenager looked small between them, barely more than a boy as he stood there with a calm look on his face. His fedora was slipping down a little but his suit was pristine and Liam could see the outline of the flick knife Harry had given him tucked away in his pocket within easy reach.

“Apologise to Irwin,” Liam said once the silence had reached breaking point. “Next month will be terribly awkward if you don’t.” At the three blank looks he received, Liam’s lip curled into the smallest hint of a smirk. “Well, I decided that the best way for the three of you to learn to get along was to go out on a meet together.”

Zayn spluttered and Louis sighed like he should have seen this coming a mile away. Ashton just smiled grimly down at his shoes, aware that this was what Liam had had in mind all along. The gun was still cradled firmly in Liam’s hand and, as he twitched it up slightly in the direction of the two men, Ashton saw them both cringe back involuntarily.

Apparently, trusting Liam could be difficult at times.

“Get back to work,” the dark-haired man sighed before he looked up to find the teenager watching him curiously. “Ashton, stay behind please. We need to discuss your inventory of the remaining stock.”

The two men were almost out of the door when Liam quietly asked: “Aren’t you two forgetting something?”

His voice was soft and the two men looked at him blankly before the realisation dawned on their faces. Ashton forced himself to meet their gazes, chin jutting slightly although he struggled to keep the belligerence from his face.

“Sorry, Irwin,” Louis said uneasily and Ashton nodded wordlessly. Louis gave an awkward little shrug and left, leaving Zayn to linger in the doorway as he watched Ashton with dark fiery eyes.

“Sorry,” the older man said simply but that one word promised something painful if Ashton ever brought this up again.

The door shut behind them and Ashton let out a quiet sigh as Liam set the revolver back down on the desk with a satisfied expression on his face.

“You don’t think the gun was overkill?” Ashton asked without thinking, remembering too late what Sophia had said about minding his tongue. Luckily though, Liam just smiled thinly.

“Not at all,” the older man said as he holstered the revolver carefully beneath his jacket. “Sometimes fear works just as well as respect, Ashton. You should remember that.”

*

Slowly but surely, the mobsters began to warm to Ashton.

It wasn’t that the rest of the gang had decided they liked him now – far from it in some instances – but they were more placid now; more accepting of Fletcher Irwin’s son in their midst as Liam gave Ashton more and more responsibilities.

Harry insisted that it was because Ashton was doing such a good job; it was hard _not_ to feel kindly to someone who was only trying to win their approval. Ashton felt their gradual acceptance blooming like sunlight on his skin and he knew he wasn’t imagining it when he looked into the Irishman’s face; Niall’s expression had become a perfect mixture of pain and pride when he looked at Ashton now, and it was so far from how Fletcher had treated Ashton growing up that the teenager didn’t know how to cope with feeling so appreciated.

Zayn and Louis were still cold with him, and it didn’t seem to matter how many times Liam made veiled threats or Harry enthusiastically told anyone who listened how impressive Ashton had been on the night their meet had gone south. The pair seemed unwilling to be anything more than grudgingly civil to Ashton and the teenager supposed he would just have to learn to accept that.

The meet Liam had arranged for the three of them came and went.

It was less awkward than Ashton had expected. When it actually came down to it, the three of them had put their differences aside and taken it in stride, and Ashton knew they’d done a good job. It was why Liam was already planning on sending the three of them out together again.

He had plans for Ashton too. _Big_ plans.

The teenager was proving to be even more resourceful and level-headed than Liam had hoped for, and there were so many ways he could make it work in his favour. Ashton still had a look of wide-eyed innocence about him – like he was dressing up in someone else’s clothes almost, except when his father’s temper flared behind his eyes and set him alight from the inside out.

Liam knew his relationship with Ashton bothered Niall too and he liked that; liked keeping the Irishman on edge. Liam had always been controlling and possessive. He liked having all of his things where he could see them and keep them where they should be, and showing Niall that Ashton wasn’t _his_ – that he belonged to **Liam** – had been on the mobster’s To Do list ever since he’d first set eyes on the kid.

Ashton thought he could sense it sometimes as he became aware of Liam’s iron will forcing Niall’s to weaken; like he was prying the Irishman’s fingers free and letting him fall into nothingness almost… but Ashton wasn’t going to let that happen. He’d already decided that Niall was too important to lose (and, with hindsight, he was sure Liam _knew_ he felt this way).

That was the only reason Ashton blurted out: “I’ll do it!” when Liam came into Niall’s office where the pair of them had been sitting and explained that he needed to locate someone who owed him money. It turned out that a potential informant came from the same area where Liam had found Niall being mugged years before and, even as the mobster had been speaking, Ashton watched the quickly-suppressed fear ripple across Niall’s face at the memories.

Ashton didn’t blame him; he felt sick himself when he remembered how vulnerable he’d felt on the night it had happened to him… how ashamed and small and useless. Ashton hadn’t wanted Niall to feel like that and, no sooner had he considered this, the offer had escaped him and the two men were watching him, Liam curious and Niall nothing short of frightened.

“I’ll do it,” Ashton repeated as his pulse thundered in his ears. “I can find him for you. I’ll tell you where he is.”

Those were the events that had led Ashton to his current whereabouts.

The wild energy crackling in Ashton’s veins – growing steadily calmer as the weeks slipped past – had returned with a vengeance tonight, burning through his veins like adrenaline-spiked blood.

Ashton knew it was just because this was the first job he’d been sent on alone but that didn’t make him feel any better. He couldn’t believe he felt more anxious about this than he did when he had to hide prohibited items during a raid from Bureau agents but it made sense. While less might arguably have been riding on the successful completion of this job, Ashton didn’t let that distract him.

This was Liam’s money they were talking about and Ashton couldn’t let him down. Not if he wanted his current job to be permanent.

Now he was standing in the shadowy corner of a shabby-looking Speakeasy on the other side of Chicago, tuning out the clink of glasses and the raucous sound of raised drunken voices as his hazel eyes scanned the crowded room, searching for the man who Liam believed had information that might help them find who they were looking for.

Ashton's hazel eyes alighted on him after a few moments. The man – whose name was Brian Dales – was sitting nursing a pint at the bar, his tired eyes downcast as he took a sip of his drink. The stool beside his was empty and Ashton pushed himself away from the wall, straightening his jacket and hat as he wove through the crowd towards the older man.

Ashton didn’t know much about him – just that he was a fairly elusive man with a lot of useful connections – and he approached the situation warily because of it. The man was smaller than average, dressed in an untidy grey suit with fingerless gloves covering his twitching hands.

Ashton settled down into the seat beside him, uncaring that the barman was currently serving someone else at the far end of the bar. The older man glanced up at him uninterestedly when the teenager sat down but he tensed up visibly when he saw that Ashton seemed content to watch him.

“You’re Mr Dales?” the teenager asked and the older man shrugged uncomfortably.

“Who’s asking?” Brian demanded. “What do you want with me, kid?”

Ashton opened his hands in a placating gesture, hoping that this was going to be a simple matter of bribing the man to tell him what he needed to know, even as anger unfurled inside him at being referred to as a kid again.

“You have information on someone who owes my boss money,” Ashton said, pitching his voice so that it was just quiet enough that Brian had to lean closer to hear. “I’m willing to pay for the information,” he added, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket to show a wad of money. “Will you tell me where I can find John Feldmann?”

Brian snorted, turning away and taking a gulp of his beer. It was a childish futile gesture; if he thought Ashton was going to leave just because he was trying to ignore him, he had another thing coming.

Liam had prepared Ashton for this; had said that blackmailing and threats often worked better with cowards like Brian. Ashton had watched Liam threaten enough people during his time in the gang that it felt almost _easy_ to mirror the mobster’s actions now; he had to put them at ease and then strike like a snake, and Ashton thought he knew just how to do it.

“Don’t ignore me, Brian.” He made his voice as warm as possible and the older man glanced towards him uneasily at the sound of his first name. “Now this is the 1920s, my friend!” Ashton said, flashing the older man an easy smile as hazel eyes danced in his tanned face, sparkling in the shadow his fedora cast. “The Great War’s over and we all survived to tell the tale!” His smile faded suddenly, iced over and became hard, just like Liam had taught him. “So tell me where I can find Feldmann.”

Brian’s jaw dropped at the sudden iciness flooding Ashton’s voice but he still didn’t speak, apparently too surprised that someone he had just referred to as a ‘kid’ was threatening him. Ashton sighed, aware that he wasn’t getting anywhere because the man wasn’t taking him seriously.

Rolling his eyes, Ashton took the flick knife from his pocket and stabbed it down hard into the leather bar stool the older man was sitting on, just centimetres from the irritating man’s thigh.

“Look here!” Brian exclaimed, panicking badly now as Ashton wrenched the knife free and tucked it out of sight before anyone could see it. “I don’t want no trouble!”

Ashton smiled thinly.

“Next time that’s your leg,” he promised and there was nothing but determination blazing in his eyes. “Now tell me where he is.”

The threat worked.

The words began to spill out of Brian and Ashton made a mental note of all of them. Ashton flicked the knife open casually and knew Brian had noticed by the frightened squeak that escaped him.

“Now tell me again,” Ashton said softly, twisting the knife slightly so that it caught the light. “Only try and do it without lying this time, okay? Or I’ll gut you.”

Ashton had to try _so_ hard not to smirk at that. He had no _intention_ of disembowelling the pathetic snivelling man in front of him but it was funny to watch his reaction all the same. Ashton was so sick of people not taking him seriously; he’d had enough.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Brian whined. “He’s over near Oakland Park so he’s still in Chicago honestly! I’m sorry I lied to you! I can give you his address, I promise!” The older man reached shakily into his inside pocket for a scrap of paper and he flinched when Ashton passed him a pen wordlessly but the letters were just about legible, and the teenager knew he’d got what he’d come for now.

“Much better,” Ashton said coldly but, when Brian’s had twitched reflexively towards the wad of money Ashton had shown him earlier, he suddenly found the tip of the knife digging into his stomach, not hard enough to draw blood although that might change if he made any sudden movements. The weapon was hidden in the fold of his jacket and Ashton smiled again, the expression almost gentle as he pressed the knife in just a tiny bit harder.

“Try that again,” Ashton said quietly, his hazel eyes hard as stone. “I dare you.”

Unsurprisingly, Brian decided he didn’t want to finish his beer anymore and looked up at Ashton pleadingly. The teenager sighed contemptuously, flicking the knife away with a look of disgust on his face.

“Dales,” he snapped when the older man immediately got to his feet, apparently prepared to hurry away. Brian looked back at him fearfully and Ashton sighed bitterly, tossing the wad of cash into the older man’s trembling hands. “Don’t tell Feldmann anything, okay?”

“Yes, boss,” the older man said shakily, staggering away and almost running for the door as Ashton watched him go with a pitying expression on his face. The teenager glanced down at the place the knife had bit into the stool with something like regret on his face but he left quickly too, disappearing out into the night before anyone could call him out on what had just happened.

At least he’d got the information they needed though. At least now Liam would be happy with him.

Ashton turned the collar of his coat up and double-checked that the piece of paper containing Feldmann’s address was still tucked safely in his pocket. His fingers curled around the knife’s handle and Ashton adjusted his fedora as he walked along in the darkness.

He felt calmer now; more confident maybe. He refused to be seen as a child when he was perfectly capable of getting what he wanted.

For just a brief moment, Ashton wondered if his father would be proud of him –

And then Ashton wondered if he even cared at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Please let me know what you thought by leaving comments and kudos <3

**Author's Note:**

> Please please _please_ let me know what you think!  
>  Comments and kudos mean the whole world, and I honestly can't thank you guys enough for reading ♥


End file.
